


I am Happy as a King

by wlpr (wendyloulou)



Series: Warrior/Mysterious Skin [2]
Category: Mysterious Skin (2005), warrior - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendyloulou/pseuds/wlpr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving <a href="http://www.fanfiction.net/s/7894868/1/I_am_Happy_as_a_King">my old staff</a> from ff.net because of the porn purge they're having at the moment. This is part 2 of a Warrior/Mysterious Skin crossover that I did last year. Read notes or warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: If you think that the poor Neil McCormick character should be left in peace, or vehemently oppose the idea that Tommy of Warrior might be gay (and in general think he's a perfect human being, unable of of hurting people he loves), or non-con is your trigger -- don't look now.

The photographer was someone he knew from one of the previous interviews. He was decent, not as demented as most of his breed. He had just one assistant, a straight guy who dressed like a normal person and not like a queer alien. They shook hands briefly in the back room of the gym, and the photographer began setting up.

The interviewer was running late. Tommy was seriously tempted to call his brother-slash-manager and cancel the whole thing, when the journalist finally graced them with his presence.

He was a slender, dark-haired young man, bespectacled, and wearing a funny, girly pea-coat, too lightweight for an East Coast winter. He quickly dropped his bag and coat on one of the chairs at the entrance, produced a voice recorder and a notebook, and made a bee line for Tommy who had been waiting, exasperated, in one of the chairs near the cage.

Something in the way he moved seemed familiar - the upright posture, the easy gait, the way he was nervously pushing his hand through the dark hair as he approached.

He smiled and nodded at the photographer who greeted him with a court 'hey Neil'. And then, Tommy recognized him.

He was older, and somehow softer, rounded in places where sharp edges used to be. His hair was longer, and it made him look younger, more carefree than Tommy remembered him. His walk was confident, his gaze unflinching, and his smile reserved, but sincere.

In a flash, he was at Tommy's side, and his cold palm slid into Tommy's hand and squeezed it in a firm handshake.

Shit, no.

Neil recognized him, too. He smiled at Tommy, but his face paled visibly under his tan, and he cleared his throat before he started speaking.

"I am very happy to see you again." Neil spoke with aspiration, almost like a teenager trying to appear older than he actually was. "I know it's a pain in the ass when you have to answer the same questions over and over again, so I'll try to make it fast. And pain-free."

All in all, he was a healthy, well-fed, smartly-dressed professional. He smiled good-naturedly, as if letting Tommy know that yes, he remembered about that episode from their mutual past, and yes, it was totally okay to drop the issue.

Tommy hated his guts.

He shook the offered hand half-heartedly and kept to himself until the tape started rolling.

It was when Neil opened his mouth to ask the first question that Tommy's hell broke loose.

"I didn't know," Tommy sneered, "that 'Interview' employed teenagers."

He was horrified and embarrassed. He wanted to slap himself on the face.

"Twenty-six is hardly a teenager," Neil answered and stared at him over his ridiculous glasses, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Such an impressive career leap. In what, about five years?"

He knew the worst was yet to come.

"Since we last met?" Neil asked, stopping the tape. "No, it's been six and a half."

Annoyingly enough, this new Neil seemed to do a lot of bemused staring.

"I wonder," Tommy pressed on, silently cursing himself, "what earned you this position? Another hustling experience that went horribly well? They say it's a queer heaven in magazines like this one..."

He couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. They were a force of nature, unstoppable.

Neil's face went a shade paler. His eyes darted to the front of the room where the photographer's assistant was setting up the lights. Then, he leaned forward and said in a low voice, drilling through Tommy with his eyes, "A graduate degree in journalism is what earned me this job. I am twenty-six years of age. My first novel is being published next year. This also happens to be my first job for 'Interview', and I'm presently trying to understand why you want to fuck it up. Slow down on the asshole part before someone slaps you with a lawsuit."

Neil grabbed the recorder and rewound the tape. His hands were shaking.

"As for my hustling career," he continued, "it actually ended with you. You were my last 'experience', as you put it. I hope this is what you wanted to hear, and we can finally begin the interview."

Tommy felt the bile rise up his throat.

The interview, even combined with the q&a from the fans, took less than fifteen minutes to complete.

The tape was rolling, Tommy was spitting out answers, trying his best not to fall into unforgivable rudeness. Neil was showing his approval by nodding like a human donkey whenever Tommy said something he really liked. In such moments, Neil's bony hand squeezed his Parker so hard the knuckles went white and the pen planted a funny hitch on the page of his notepad.

It was disgusting. It lasted forever.

When Tommy first set his eyes on Neil in a subway train, two words quickly came to his mind: 'beauty' and 'grace', followed closely by 'precision' and 'sharpness'. Neil was as sharp as a shard of glass, or a piece of that stone that cut better than steel. But, there was a ragged edge to his beauty, an uncomfortable afterglow to that easy grace, like a broken mechanism that had been carefully fixed but hadn't quite regained its functions. Tommy wanted to grab him by the shoulders and just shake him until he cracked open, and the fear and loneliness started seeping out.

Back then the attraction was sudden and deadly like a knife to the chest. Neil didn't even finish the first sentence, and Tommy already thought, "This is it, ladies and gentlemen. We have arrived." And then, "Queer. Queer as fuck." And the whole conversation should have stopped at that point, but didn't, because none of them wanted it to stop.

Six years later, the new Neil regarded him with a reserved interest, adamantly keeping up appearances.

Tommy suddenly wanted the old Neil back. He wanted that child who was scared and angry, who grinned and fought back like a stray dog, desperately, hopelessly, and when overpowered, gave in and fell in love, and who had waited for him, swallowing back tears, surrounded by strangers, in the lobby of a hotel six years before.

The new Neil standing his ground and being self-assured, and stable should have made Tommy glad. Only it didn't. He felt lonely and lost. Over the past six years he'd sometimes wondered about what'd happened to the boy and where he might be. He liked to think that he was okay, and living his life quietly, working some shitty job and remembering their encounter as a bright spot in his sad and lonely life.

Seeing Neil wear designer clothes and work for 'Interview' did not fit into the picture he had painted.

It was a fucking betrayal.

The interrogation was over. The photographer was ready and waiting for him inside the cage. The setting was perfect, he said. They would be done in no time at all. He knew who he was working with and would not expect Tommy to perform any stupid tricks for the camera.

The make-up girl, who'd walked in during the interview, swore on her mother's grave she would give him just a quick brush up, no nonsense.

He marveled at how accommodating people grew once your name became a synonym to money.

The photographer's assistant approached Neil who was getting ready to leave. Fragments of their conversation reached Tommy's ears, as his face was being worked on.

"Didn't think about the traffic on the bridge?" the assistant asked, checking the connecting cables on the floor.

"No." Neil shook his head and rolled a rugby stripe scarf on top of his ridiculous pea-coat. "I also got lost a bit here. This part of the city is pretty hard to navigate, even with a GPS."

"This is definitely _not_ downtown." The assistant raised his eyebrows, and they both laughed, casually. "You can just wait for us and tail along. We'll be on our way back in an hour."

"I think I'd rather get going. Thank you, though." Neil shook the guy's hand.

Tommy didn't know when exactly he'd made a decision. All he knew was that the new Neil was coming home with him that night, just like the old Neil had done years before.

Neil, all ready to go, was rummaging through his bag for the car-keys.

Tommy called him from the make-up chair, "Neil, can I have a word?"

Neil looked around to see who was calling his name. His eyes stopped on Tommy. He pushed up his glasses and frowned. He seemed to have decided he was hearing things, because he grabbed his man purse and headed for the exit.

"Neil," Tommy called again, trying not to laugh.

Neil stopped and stared shortsightedly in Tommy's direction, wrinkling his nose in confusion. Tommy rose from his chair, mumbling apologies to the make-up artist, and walked up to Neil.

Neil shifted uncomfortably and took a step back as Tommy approached.

"Where are you staying?" Tommy asked, trying not to sound too breathless with emotion.

He realized with a shock that Neil was almost his height, and his eyes behind the glasses were suddenly very close, wary and sad. The sadness flickered and disappeared, eclipsed by a benevolent smile that made Tommy want to grit his teeth.

"Fairmont," he answered and held out his hand for a farewell handshake.

Tommy ignored it, shoving his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and looking at his feet.

"The one in Market Street?"

"Yeah..."Neil copied his gesture, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pea-coat, staring at Tommy with apprehension.

"I'll meet you in the bar at seven." Tommy blurted out and quickly walked away before hearing a 'no'.

"I hate their bar," Neil said at his back.

"I'll take you to another one," Tommy answered, not looking at him, and smiled at the make-up girl who waited at the chair, her arms akimbo.

"I don't drink," Neil said two hours later, settling in the passenger's seat of Tommy's Merc, and fastening the seat belt.

"Me neither," Tommy replied and started the engine.

They arrived at the Conlon residence at half past eight, opened a bottle of Jameson's, Tommy had bought at the liquor mega-store on the corner, and got plastered by nine.

Pop was vacationing in Philly. Very convenient.

They were sitting at the old table in the dining-room of Tommy's childhood home. Tommy had switched on the floor light by the window, and the corner of the room they'd occupied was in half-darkness.

The bottle of special reserve, half-depleted, stood like a candle on the table between them, the small light from the lamp reflecting in its green glass.

Pop kept no bar glasses. They drank their whiskey out of coffee mugs.

They had already exhausted all the topics suitable for a drunk conversation: Neil's soon-to-be-published book, describing the events of his childhood in Hutchinson, KS; Tommy's ill-fated military career, his uneven relationship with the UFC, his wish to walk out of the business while he was still able to walk.

"You did an awesome job on ESPN last month," Neil said, leaning back in his creaky chair. "You should consider it as a career, if you plan to retire soon. Did I hear that part right?"

"Already considered," Tommy answered, slumping heavily in his seat, his chin and lips drowning in the collar of his hoodie.

The heat was on, but the air in the room was still cold, and the whiskey did nothing to chase away the chill from his body.

"This is off the tape. So make sure it doesn't make it into the piece you're doing." Tommy reached for the bottle and refilled his mug. "I'm on a contract with ESPN starting next season. It's not what they call play-by-play – I'm the color, but on a regular basis. It's a good start."

He decided not to mention another contract, that one with Fox, that bound him to New York for seven years, and the fact that his place was a desert of dust. Most of his stuff had already shipped to the New York loft, save for the old bed he was planning to leave behind, and the contents of the walk-in closets he was taking with him.

Neil's cup was almost empty. Tommy lifted the bottle, offering him a refill. At first, Neil declined, covering the top of the mug with his palm, but then changed his mind and let Tommy fill it up. They clinked their improvised glasses.

"I think you're perfect for the job." Neil said, his voice raspy. He looked gradually more and more relaxed as the bottle emptied. "You've a very good speaking voice, very pleasant to listen to. And a sense of humor, very appealing. And you speak quite well...for a man of your background..." Neil finished awkwardly and looked at Tommy, embarrassed by his own words.

Tommy snorted and shook his head.

"That's okay. I am not offended."

"What I'm trying to say is, ugh...You always pretend you can't put a sentence together, but you're actually pretty smart. That's obvious to everyone who gets to know you a bit better. I guess that's what earned you the ESPN gig, – this, and _not_ your UFC regalia, for all its worth."

He paused, waiting for affirmation from Tommy. Tommy laughed and looked away.

His shoulder and back were killing him. He wished he could tell Neil that he knew close to nothing about the work he'd taken up, and the load and the responsibility that came with it scared the shit out of him. Neil's words, the absolute confidence and trust he could hear in them, made something unclench in Tommy's chest. They made him feel warm, made him feel better.

"You sound like a fan," he gave Neil a mocking stare over rim of his mug.

Neil scratched the top of his head and smiled sheepishly.

"I've been following your career, yeah...You're really fucking good at what you do..." he mumbled, his eyes following the movement of Tommy's hand as it lifted the bottle and filled Neil's cup again.

"Am I really?" Tommy asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I've been watching your fights. You've developed over the years. In the beginning you were all about pounding. But even then you had a strategy, you just chose to rely more on the physical force... Today it's more like you're playing a game of chess. You are analytical _and_ flexible. That's what helps you win..."

"I'm just getting old. Can't keep that style up anymore," Tommy said, trying to downplay what sounded suspiciously like a declaration. "And I don't always win. I didn't win the last championship."

"I think you've become much better with age," Neil continued thoughtfully, pushing his glasses up with the index finger. "You even look better now - less pound, more flexibility..."

Tommy bellowed a laugh.

"I also think you're deliberately trying to make me drunk, and your intentions are not entirely unclear to me..." Neil sighed.

Tommy squinted at him and downed the rest of his whiskey, wishing the conversation had taken a different turn. It struck him that Neil had definitely drunk twice as much as he had, and the idea that Neil could make himself so vulnerable and accessible for anyone, even Tommy, hit him like a punch to the gut.

"The worst thing is that you're not even my type," Neil continued, searching for something in the bottom of his cup. "You're too young, too fucking fit. No tache, not even a bald spot..."

Neil laughed a very drunk, very childish laugh, and Tommy had to stop himself from standing up, taking the mug from him, and putting him to bed with a good-night kiss.

Neil, it seemed, sensed Tommy's mood. He got up hastily and stumbled to the middle of the room. There, he spent some time by the fireplace, contemplating the old family photos and Tommy's two UFC belts Pop had hung above the mantel shelf.

"And you're straight, and no good for me..." he whispered, pressing the mug against his forehead. "Call me a cab, yeah? My flight is at nine in the morning."

He smiled at Tommy, a very calm and warm look in his eyes. Tommy was by his side in a split second.

"You little twat," he spat out, addressing no one in particular.

He moved awkwardly, his legs unsteady, as he attempted to simultaneously grab the mug from Neil's hand and kiss him on the lips. Kissing Neil on the lips he'd liked. He remembered that fairly well.

Neil got upset about the kiss. He gave Tommy a slap, and yelled 'No!' at him, and glared through his artsy glasses.

Tommy knew he was doing everything wrong. He'd intended to keep an acceptable distance between them, for Neil's sake, to show some respect. But all his good intentions went to hell, as usual. Why did he have to get under Neil's skin again? Why couldn't he just let him be? He was doing it wrong, but he couldn't seem to fix it.

So, he ducked down, grabbed Neil by the waist and hoisted him over his shoulder. Neil punched and kicked at Tommy with his knees, and yelled some more, calling him a sneaky cunt and a fat moron, and telling him to fuck off and leave him alone, and, seeing no effect, angrily chunked the mug against the floor, and it broke into a thousand pieces that scratched the wood under the soles of Tommy's trainers.


	2. Chapter 2

>

In the master bedroom he tossed Neil onto his parents' old queen-size and climbed on top of him, boxing Neil's body in with his arms and legs, pinning his wrists to the mattress.

Neil was panting angrily and turning his head from side to side, avoiding Tommy's mouth, and Tommy was kissing his face and neck everywhere he could get his lips on, and grinding against Neil's erection like a man possessed. Neil halted below him, exhausted, and gave out a frustrated moan; his face crumpled, and he broke into a helpless, childish cry. He lay motionless, breathing heavily, his eyes shut, his lips pressed closed. Alcohol fumes hung in the air between them, and mad, angry tears kept rolling down Neil's flushed cheeks.

This was not the way Tommy wanted it to be. The image of Neil as a 19-year-old boy, hiding his battered face in the collar of the red jacket and moving with great caution as if mere breathing caused him pain, suddenly appeared in front of his eyes. Tommy was petrified of himself, sobered up in one heart-wrenching second. The urge to run seized him like steel tongs.

He let go of Neil and sat up next to him, unable to breathe, wishing he could turn back the time and erase the last few minutes from his life. He told himself Neil deserved to be somewhere else, with someone who loved and respected him, and - most importantly – found an acceptable way to make those feelings known. He was not supposed to lie sobbing and mortified in the bed of this bitter, selfish monster Tommy had suddenly turned into. There he was, Pop's true offspring, inflicting pain on the man he – what, loved? Wanted?

The thought flew away, unfinished, or rather, was knocked out by Neil's fist that fell on Tommy's cheekbone, like a hammer, heavy and cold, sending the stars dance in front of his eyes.

He sat there, holding at his rapidly swelling face, blinking at Neil, who was standing on the bed, rumpled and shaking, a distraught, furious look in his eyes.

"Fuck my life!" Neil yelled, his voice breaking. "Why does it keep happening? Why _you_

of all people?"

Tommy watched Neil's hand rise again and decided he didn't want to do anything about it; thus, he simply closed his eyes and allowed Neil deliver another earth-shaking blow to his face.

He didn't turn away. He took it, unflinching, numbed by guilt.

"I don't know." He had to push the words out of his throat. "I don't know why. I need you...but not this way. You should probably..."

His voice trailed off, as Neil grabbed the neck of his hoodie, and pulled him up, towering over him on the bed. He could feel Neil's breath, hot and uneven on his face.

"What exactly should I do?" Neil spat out. "Go home? Report an assault? Leave you in peace to lick the wounds?"

Tommy shook his head. He could apologize a thousand times, get down on his knees, but it wouldn't be enough. He would never find the right words to explain how much he needed Neil; whatever Neil gave him at that point, Tommy would accept.

He covered Neil's hand with his own and pressed a kiss against the cold knuckles. Neil froze above him, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips twitching in an acerbic grin.

"Yeah," he said with derision. "That's what I thought."

And then Neil kissed him, angrily, more tongue and teeth than an actual caress. He pushed Tommy back on the bed, pressing him into the mattress with his body. In a matter of seconds, they traded places, and frankly, Tommy was happy with that. Anything was better than seeing Neil broken and helpless, and feeling the sickening weight of remorse in his heart.

Neil pulled away after a moment and stared at him, as if coming back to his senses, unsure about what to do next. The look of distress and confusion turned Neil's face into a mask of a lost child.

Tommy wanted to kill himself. It had taken a few hours in his company to destroy the calm, self-assured young man and bring back the jaded little boy Neil had been many years before.

Regretful, he drew Neil closer, cautiously this time, and laid a gentle kiss on the smooth skin of Neil's forehead, brushing away the dark curls that fell into his eyes, ran his hands over the strong muscle of Neil's back, as if it could soothe the pain he had caused.

The words that had got stuck in his throat suddenly burst out. Neil was the only one, there would be no other. He always knew what Tommy needed and gave it to him, made him whole. That was the truth, and Tommy told him so.

Neil, his eyes closed, listened to Tommy blabber. He'd crossed his arms over his chest as a barrier between their bodies, not ready to yield completely to Tommy's persuasion, and the expression on his face had changed into a mix of resentment and satisfaction.

Through the fabric of his jeans, Tommy could feel Neil's prick, lying hard against his thigh, blood-filled and heavy. It twitched whenever Tommy's words hit the spot.

Neil wasn't an especially effeminate type. He was wiry, but strong, his voice was low, and his jaw was already prickly with morning stubble. But to Tommy, Neil was a thing of beauty, delicate and rare. He cherished this moment when Neil was cradled against his chest, open and defenseless, not yelling or attacking him for a change.

Tommy got frantic, getting off on the mere feel of Neil's body being close, it's warmth and strength lifting him like a drug. He needed to touch skin, to feel the pulse under his fingers.

He put one hand on the collar of Neil's shirt and looked at him, silently asking for permission. Neil nodded and turned away as Tommy stripped him of his clothes, leaving on the briefs Neil was not ready to remove yet.

Under his clothes, Neil was well-defined muscle, – not really built, but supple and flexible, rolling under the tanned, smooth skin. He was just as Tommy remembered him, and at the same time someone completely different.

Neil reached out and helped Tommy drag the hoodie off. He stared at Tommy's body for a second, and Tommy knew that he, too, was taking in the changes, comparing the memories he had of Tommy to the present reality. Then he leaned forward in one fluid movement and rid Tommy of his sweatshirt, his knuckles brushing over Tommy's lips, as he lifted the hem over his head. He gave Tommy a once-over from beneath lowered eyelashes, biting his lip in hesitation, and then his hand slid down Tommy's stomach, over the belt buckle, unfastening and unzipping his jeans.

Tommy arched back on his elbows, lifting his hips, letting Neil peel the denim off, and couldn't help gasping as Neil's fingers got caught in the loop of his boxers and dragged them down as well. He was exposed, half-hard, flushed and uncomfortable in front of Neil who still wore his briefs and seemed to have gained some control over the situation.

Neil inched closer, his eyes on Tommy's cock, his hand gliding over the firm hip, a gentle pressure of trembling fingers that sent the blood rushing to Tommy's groin and made his prick jump. Neil froze momentarily, and licked his lips. A gesture Tommy would have thought misplaced and ridiculous if only it hadn't driven him to distraction.

Desire sledgehammered him, pooling low in his stomach, his body suddenly light, his limbs heavy. He realized that despite of everything that had happened, he could still make Neil melt. However hurt and angry Neil might have been, he could never resist Tommy.

Tommy sighed and shifted slightly, spreading his legs wider. He covered Neil's hand with his own, and guided it gently up the inner side of his thigh, not forcing him to touch, just allowing the heat of his body to flow over into Neil's.

Neil pulled away, withdrawing his hand. His breath went ragged, he dropped on his back with a soft gasp, kicking his legs impatiently, fighting to get rid of his briefs, as he dragged them off. His prick sprang free, lean and long, hard and curving up to his stomach. Neil looked pained, on the verge of tears, as he spread atop of Tommy, wedging a knee between his thighs, grabbing Tommy's hand and bringing it to his leaking cock.

Tommy began to work at it, tugging and squeezing lightly, in a sure, even rhythm. He wound an arm around Neil's waist to steady him. Neil's hips buckled. He shuddered and came a little, whimpering and spilling over Tommy's knuckles, and looked so beautiful in his arousal, that Tommy felt an urge to take him apart, then and there.

He growled and tried to capture Neil's mouth in kiss, but Neil buried his face in Tommy's shoulder, and shook his head, unexpectedly shy. Then, Tommy brought his cum-splattered fingers to Neil's face and talked Neil into looking at him, using the sweet words he knew would work, and smeared the cum over Neil's lips. And, for the first time since they'd fallen on that bed, Neil looked him straight in the eye, his gaze burning through Tommy with lust and despair. The knowledge that it was he who made Neil long and suffer like that made Tommy's blood boil.

He sucked the white off Neil's lips and fucked Neil's mouth with his tongue. His hand returned to teasing Neil's cock, bringing him back to the edge.

Neil was moaning openly. He grabbed Tommy's shoulders, his fingers digging into the tattooed skin, and tried to rub his erection against Tommy's thigh.

Tommy pushed him gently aside, squeezing at the base of his own cock and pausing for a moment, in an attempt to stop himself from coming on the spot. And then, he continued tormenting Neil who pressed his whole body into Tommy's, sliding his arms around Tommy's neck, devouring Tommy's mouth, grinding their hips together. Neil groaned in frustration when Tommy pushed him away once more and held him at an arm's length.

Tommy wanted to take a camera and record the sight, keep Neil on tape, forever starved for his touch. Neil's eyes, lust-glazed, followed the movements of Tommy's fingers, sliding up and down the length of Neil's cock, keeping it hard and waiting, letting it have just the slightest hint of release and leaving it alone as soon as the first spurt of come rolled down the head.

It was a fucking wet dream come true. Neil, aroused and impatient, trying to drape himself around Tommy, coming at the touch of Tommy's hand, whimpering and begging. Tommy squeezed at the solid muscle of Neil's stomach. His other hand cupped Neil's ass, holding him close, as Tommy's lips found Neil's nipple and sucked on it gently, his tongue flickering lightly, trying to annoy and tickle more than please.

Neil writhed beneath him, fighting to sit up and shake Tommy off. He almost managed to, but Tommy quickly pulled him back down, enjoying the cat-and-mouse game. Neil went rigid and closed his eyes, shutting down from him. Tommy immediately dropped all the teasing and held him close, making their bodies slide together, allowing Neil bite angrily at his lips.

He wanted to lull Neil into trusting him again and then, maybe pin him to the bed and play with him some more, tease him into crying out loud and loosing his mind. But – God – Neil, his beautiful, unattainable Neil, breathing out his name between kisses, was too much to bear, there was no way Tommy was going to last.

He pumped Neil's cock with his fist, ran his thumb against Neil's lips, coaxing them to open, but never sliding inside. Neil stared through him, lost in the sensation, his hips canting into Tommy's hand, picking up the pace, his arms sliding over Tommy's chest.

"What do you want, baby?" Tommy whispered, pressing the slightest kiss on the corner of Neil's mouth. "Tell me what you want..."

"Your lips on my cock," Neil rasped out, turning his face into the pillow, wincing as if the words caused him pain. "Just a kiss, please?..."

He sounded raw, ready for rejection.

Tommy had never given head in his entire life. He had received plenty though, from girls, and some from Neil. He knew the way he liked it, he was sure he knew the way Neil might like it.

So he reached for his clothes, found the lube in the pocket of his jeans, slicked two fingers and slid them carefully into Neil's hole, – one, then another. He bent and moved them, studying Neil's reaction, and when Neil moaned aloud and propped himself on one elbow, staring hungrily at his lips, Tommy knew he was doing it right. He reached out and gave Neil a quick soothing kiss, before ducking down and brushing his lips against the head of Neil's cock, getting the taste of salty wetness, and then sucked it in, feeling its warmth and heaviness on his tongue.

There was no doubt at that very moment that down in Philly Pop woke up having hiccups in his bed in the guest room of Brendan's house, because his youngest boy had just become a cocksucker.

Tommy laughed at the thought, and took Neil deeper into his mouth, trying to match the rhythm with the work of his fingers on Neil's prostate.

After just a few seconds of gentle suction, Neil who was becoming more and more vocal, started whimpering and pulling at Tommy's hair.

"Stop," he said, sitting up and pushing Tommy away. "Stop, now."

Tommy looked up at him and the tenderness he saw in Neil's eyes broke his heart. He let go of Neil's cock, and Neil was all over him, mauling Tommy's face and coming, for what felt like forever, gasping and squeezing his eyes shut, sending the white streaks over their stomachs.

Tommy dragged him closer, no fucks given about the mess, and laughed quietly as Neil sighed and settled in his arms, his breath hot and uneven on Tommy's shoulder.

Just like many years before, lying entangled with Neil made him feel loving and sentimental, filled him with longing he couldn't overcome.

He kissed Neil behind the ear and on the neck and whispered that he wanted to fuck him sore, and wanted Neil's permission to do so. Neil turned to face him and kissed him on the lips as a way of saying yes.

Tommy reached out for the condoms, and in a few minutes they were thrusting together. And if it made Tommy queer, then that was the way it was going to be.

He held Neil's hips for leverage and fucked into him like there was no tomorrow, loving the way Neil trembled and clang to him, one hand working on his own prick, the other resting on Tommy's thigh, pressing lightly over the flexing muscle. Tommy was getting close. The harder he was fucking Neil, the more gentle he became. His lips brushed against Neil's temple, his breath ghosting upon Neil's eyelashes.

"Baby," Tommy begged, "I need your lips. Give me your sweet lips."

Neil melted, succumbed to his pleas. He turned to face Tommy and let him lick into his mouth, cupping Tommy's face with his hand, barely touching.

"I want you," Neil gasped out as they broke up, his voice tight, his eyes shut, "always."

Tommy squeezed him in his arms, thrust into him for the last time, and came, fucked out of his mind, feeling more alive than he'd been in years.

They stayed up way into small hours, both sobered up and quiet, thinking of the day that was looming, ineluctable. Neil was the first to relax and doze off, his head on Tommy's shoulder, his arm wound possessively over Tommy's chest. Tommy listened to Neil's breathing and prayed for the night to linger a little longer.


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy was awoken before dawn by a noise that sounded a lot like the roar of a grizzly bear or a peal of thunder. He listened in the darkness. In bed next to him Neil reached out for his glasses that lay on the side-table, neatly folded, having miraculously escaped a death by compression the previous night.

The roar could be heard again, coming from the dining room, and this time shaped into an actual word. Tommy covered his eyes and moaned, "Oh God".

He rolled heavily off the bed and walked out of the room, bending down on the way to fish his boxers from the heap of clothes on the floor. He left the bedroom door open, and Neil heard the grizzly bear roar once more.

"Tommy," it grumbled, "pick up the phone, for God's sake."

Tommy limped to the kitchen, cursing as his left knee was sending jolts of pain through his leg at every step. He needed a hot shower, and painkillers, as soon as possible.

"Pop? How did you know I was here?" he mumbled, plucking the receiver off the kitchen wall.

The bear went silent for a moment, then sighed.

"I called your place," it replied. "Nobody's there. Called you on your mobile – no response. I figured, where else could you be?"

"How's the family?" Tommy asked, as he went through the kitchen cabinet looking for Aspirin, - anything to soothe the pain.

"They're fine. They're good... I've this feeling something isn't right. Haven't been drinking again, have you? Want me to cut my trip short?"

"Nah." Tommy winced as he tried to down the tablets he'd found in the cupboard with tap water. They stuck in his throat. "Met an old friend yesterday, we had a few. Nothing much."

"Hmm...So you're saying I needn't come?" the receiver wondered after a pause.

"It's nothing. I'll be in the gym by nine." He tried to sound casual, horrified at the might of Pop's intuition.

The fluorescent clock on the kitchen wall ticked a quarter to six.

Tommy drove Neil to the hotel to pick up his bags, and then to the airport.

The sober, morning Neil was unexpectedly calm and a little sad. When Tommy finished talking to Pop and returned to the bedroom, Neil had smiled at him, and cuddled him when Tommy crawled back into the bed, complaining about the knee. He had let Tommy squeeze him and rub the morning wood off against his ass, and made a joke about not being able to walk properly thanks to Tommy's attentions from the previous night.

He was the same polite, good-natured little hipster that had angered Tommy the day before, only this time around Tommy realized it was a natural reaction, an attempt at self-preservation. He laughed at the joke Neil had made, and promised him many painful days ahead, if the circumstances allowed. This was when Neil went reticent and pensive. He said nothing, but Tommy already knew which way the wind was blowing.

When Neil settled down in the passenger's seat, his bag on the floor between his legs, ready for a drive to the airport, Tommy handed him his cell. Neil hesitated for a brief moment, and then punched in his number and hit the call button. The call went through, and Neil saved the number that appeared on the screen of his PDA.

"Call me when you get to New York." Tommy said, his eyes on the road, as they drove out of the hotel parking.

"Okay," Neil replied and nodded, staring at the buildings outside the window.

Five minutes into the drive Neil let it all out.

"I think you did the right thing back then," he said, his shoulders tight, and looked at Tommy, waiting for a reaction.

"And..." Tommy shot him a questioning look.

"The thing is... I don't do relationships." Neil said and nervously cracked his knuckles. "I'm not saying this to get back at you. I just really don't do them. I do have sex, though."

He laughed wryly and looked at Tommy again, sheepish and upset.

"Go on," Tommy nodded.

"My longest relationships are all friendships. There's a woman who means a lot to me. We've been friends for what, almost fifteen years. She's the closest person I've ever had. She's married now, but we're still in touch, at least we're trying... I'm terrible at that, too."

He took off the glasses and rubbed his face with a slim palm.

"I'm a disaster at calling back and answering emails. I'm horrible at getting back in general," he continued after a pause. "I'm not saying this to push you away. I appreciate this... thing we have, and I'm ready to work for it. I just don't want you to feel hurt or ignored, if I fail to return a call at times. Can you promise me not to get mad about that?"

"As long as you don't go MIA for six months," Tommy snorted.

"That's exactly what I meant when I said you made the right decision six years ago." Neil shook his head. "At that time I wouldn't have been good for you at all."

"I don't see how you'd be bad, either," Tommy replied, looking at the highway in front of them.

"You invest too much into relationships. If I were a girl, there would be no drama. We'd have been married for years by now, believe me." Neil sighed. "But I'm not. And you were too dependent on your family. Imagine introducing me to your brother... Would your father have ever accepted me? I guess not. You'd only just found some stability in your life at that point, wouldn't have risked it all for me. So, you sent me away."

"It doesn't mean you're a bad person. It means you're simply human." Neil tried to acquit him after a brief pause. Only Tommy knew the truth all too well.

"Did you hate me for that?" Tommy asked, squeezing the steering wheel.

Neil looked at Tommy's hands, wide and fleshy, his long, fat fingers, clean, manicured nails.

"No," he said, stressing the word, "not a single bit. I sort of understood how you felt. It was all clear to me from the very beginning. I knew what would happen the minute you looked at me."

"How's that?"

"You liked me. It was in your eyes. I don't know why... Maybe you saw something familiar in me, probably the despair was what you could relate to..."

Tommy bit his lip and shook his head, disapprovingly.

"Go ahead and deny it if you want," Neil continued, "I still know the truth. You wanted me, could never hurt me. That's why I went with you in the first place, that's why I came back later. I needed to be loved, you needed someone to love. In your opinion it was wrong – the fact that I'm male and you wanted me. That's why you were so angry and acted mean. Didn't fool me, though, not for a second."

"Fool you?" Tommy mumbled. "Never hoped to..."

Neil glanced at him, annoyed.

"The point is... I wanted you, too. You are fucking hot, just so you know. You were also completely alien to everything my life had been. You seemed strong and independent. I wanted to be like you. Then I realized your dependencies were actually deeper than mine. You too were just a child. I didn't hate you when you left. I couldn't if I had wanted to. I sympathized."

Neil put his glasses back on and checked the time on his watch.

"Having said all this, I don't want you to have any illusions on my account. I'm still the little shit you probably remember me to be. I'm learning to accept responsibilities, every day of my life. And sometimes fail, spectacularly. This interview – I didn't ask for it, it was assigned to me. I could decline and lose the job, or try and face you, and do my best. I harbored no hopes when I got here. But now that I got you back for some time, I don't think I'll be able to live without... I'll survive, for sure, but... I want you, I want this. I'm willing to make it work...What do you say?"

Tommy glanced at Neil. The latter was shivering in his seat. He bent forward, trying to control the tremors, burying his chin in the striped scarf and shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of the pea-coat. As he finished speaking, he turned and pretended to look outside the window, waiting for Tommy's reply. A nervous jitter kept rolling through his body in waves, as if the heat running on maximum did nothing to keep him warm.

Tommy was at a loss for words. He was racking his brain, but all he could think of was how obviously unwell and tired Neil was. He could feel Neil's discomfort as his own, but Tommy, by contrast, was overheated and short of breath. Suddenly, he was on the brink of passing out.

He wasn't having a panic attack in the middle of a highway. No fucking way.

So, he rolled down the window and switched off the heat, ignoring Neil shaking next to him, as the cold air flooded the salon.

At the nearest gas station he pulled over and stumbled out of the car under Neil's questioning gaze. He didn't care if Neil was missing his flight, he needed to stop, then and there.

In the shabby '7/11' he got a medium-sized paper cup and filled it half with black coffee. His coat was suffocating him, so he took it off and hung it on his arm before going back outside.

A gust of cold wind threw a handful of wet snow into his face. His teeth were chattering by the time he reached the car.

Neil waited for him outside, leaning against the passenger's door, all ruffled up and scowling at the gloomy morning.

"You're gonna die from pneumonia," he said when he saw Tommy.

Tommy said nothing, just pulled him by the sleeve into the backseat of the car. Once inside, he handed the coffee over to Neil and reached between the front seats to roll up the window and turn on the heat.

Neil slumped in the seat next to him, following Tommy with weary, unsure eyes. The warm air from the heater started filling up the closed space. Tommy settled down with a groan, groped around under his feet and took out the 5 cl of JD he had stashed in the back. The bottle was covered with a film of dust. It had been waiting for its day for quite a while. Tommy took the coffee from Neil's hands and mixed the whiskey into the burning hot liquid.

He brought the cup to Neil's lips, as if Neil were a child, unable to drink on his own. Neil frowned, and shook his head in protest.

"Just shut up!" Tommy muttered, annoyed, and pushed the cup into Neil's hand. Neil snorted, gave him an incredulous look, and carefully took the first sip. He immediately cringed at the taste and laughed.

Tommy made him drink half the cup. Color flooded Neil's cheeks and spread down his neck, he gave the cup back to Tommy and wiped the sheen of sweat off his forehead with a sleeve of his coat. He looked resuscitated, and the lost, jaded look was gone from his eyes. Tommy put the cup down, untouched, and moved closer, unbuttoning Neil's coat and shirt, and sliding his hands over the hot skin of Neil's chest.

Neil was the one who'd been drinking, but it was Tommy who felt drunk. He went from feeling frozen to steaming in a matter of seconds. The air suddenly seemed too warm, and he had to fight the urge to strip of his shirt. The blood rushed to his cock and he went hard so quickly it caused him pain. Neil stared at him, a disbelieving, happy look in his eyes, his muscles twitching lightly under the touch of Tommy's fingers, the blush on Neil's cheeks deepened, his lips parted, soft, inviting. Tommy pushed him back on the seat, and Neil lay down, spreading his legs for Tommy to slide in between and grind against his hips. Tommy rolled Neil's nipples between his fingers, and gave him an open-mouthed kiss, sucking Neil's tongue in, playing with it gently, feeling the taste of alcohol and coffee. Neil moaned beneath him and pressed into the touch, begging for more, sending arousal through Tommy's veins. Tommy crushed Neil into the seat and groaned, on the brink of losing his mind, "I wanna fuck you so bad... Let me fuck you now..."

He ripped at the zipper of Neil's jeans, impatient, palming Neil's cock through the thin cotton of the briefs, his fingers sliding up and down it's length, laying gentle circles over the dump spot on its head. Neil made a keening sound and spread his legs wider, in a painful stretch, pushing his cock into Tommy's fist. Tommy was desperate for it. He wanted to take it in his mouth, to pet and tease it, leave it raw and swollen like the night before, he wanted Neil's cum on his tongue, wanted to eat him up. He groaned in frustration, wishing they were in his bed, not in the back of a car at a service island, exposed and vulnerable.

Anyway, he pulled Neil's briefs down and continued working on his cock. Neil was about to come, he whined and begged Tommy to fuck him, Tommy promised him to do just that as soon as he was in New York, namely he promised to suck Neil dry and fuck him in the ass until he begged him to stop, and then jerked him at a brutal pace until Neil cried out and came over Tommy's hand. Tommy followed without even touching himself as Neil was sucking his own cum off Tommy's fingers.

Neil waved at Tommy before entering the terminal. He looked sleepy and content, his feet wobbly as he went, an idiotic happy grin on his face. Tommy almost felt sorry he couldn't join him on this flight. He already missed Neil lying next to him, a heavy weight against Tommy's frame, throwing a leg or an arm over Tommy's body in his sleep.

On his cell he had one voice massage from his brother-slash-manager, inquiring about how the interview had gone, plus a dozen missed calls from Pop, all of them between midnight and three in the morning. That was all. No angry emails from his lawyer – pardon, legal representative, no advertisement offers. He was fucking old, and people were less interested. He remembered the look of exhaustion on Neil's face and thought that obscurity might be good for him after all. Probably, it was exactly what Tommy needed.

So, he threw the handheld on the panel, switched on the radio, and drove back to Pop's place, singing along with the doe-eyed starlet who begged someone to stay home, because, baby, it was cold outside **.**

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank-you to immoral-crow for support and inspiration.


End file.
